


The Jape

by acerbitas



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, F/M, Freezing cold, Gen, Hints of past horrible things, Keeping people locked in towers, M/M, Mind Games, Multi, Ramsay Bolton is terrible, Sexual Assault, Starvation, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture, that's it that's the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-27 10:56:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acerbitas/pseuds/acerbitas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ramsay grows bored of keeping his wife in a tower and takes her to a feast.  Then he takes her home.  Well, halfway home, because that’s where his game begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jeyne

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again to amethyst_ink who read over this story for me, found a lot of errors, and indulgently talked about frostbite and wind speed with me.

Winterfell was just over a league away now.  It was the middle of the night, and ice clung to the branches of trees outside her window.  Jeyne’s husband had ordered extra horses attached to their carriage, because the snow was so thick on the road.  She was no longer accustomed to being outside.

Ramsay was smiling now, softly.  All of his smiles were dangerous.  His hand gripped the door handle of the carriage, leathered fingers taut against the wood.  The tightness of his grip frightened her.

Fear was a constant for Jeyne now.  It hummed softly in her gut.  She studied Ramsay’s every word and action.  She studied how fast he breathed.  Vigilance only went so far against Ramsay, though, because he was a starved beast.  There was no sensibility there, behind his eyes.  Only hunger.  So Jeyne tried to fade out when he hurt her; she tried to be nothing, just like Theon.  There wasn’t anything else to do.

Theon had told her, softly, desperately, to make him happy.  Theon was wed to the story that he caused Ramsay’s cruelty towards him, and tried to pass this lesson onto her.  He did this sincerely, mutilated fingers trembling.

If Theon just would try harder, the logic went, he wouldn’t get hurt.  Jeyne should try harder, then, too.  This solution seemed simple, but it was useless.  Jeyne knew it was all a lie that Ramsay had tucked into Theon’s head.  Ramsay liked their pain too much to ever stop.

Jeyne was afraid she would catch Theon’s disease.  She would catch his blank submission, that shuffling walk, and nothing would be left of Jeyne anymore.  Maybe she’d even get a new name, a third name, one that Ramsay selected for her.  The Lady Bolton shivered, and only partially from cold.

“Did you enjoy our outing, my Lady?” Ramsay’s voice brought her up out of her thoughts, where she had been drowning.

“Yes, my Lord,” she said.  She had not.

“It did not seem like it.”  Something said so mildly should not be a threat, but it was.

“My Lord?”

“You should be happier.”  His voice was a low growl.  “It is a grand feast, and I took you along.  To eat whatever you wanted, and to drink.”

“I…I am very grateful.”  Jeyne had been starved before the feast, and had had to force back tears when the bounty was brought out.  She had struggled to eat like a lady.  She had been too afraid to drink. What if she had been unable to stop?

“If you were grateful,” Ramsay told her, “you’d have said so before.”

It was all so unfair.  She sat, silent.  Anything she said might make him worse.

“Don’t you have anything to say to that?”  Her husband cocked his head, and leaned closer to her.  His breath was hot against her neck.

She felt like a mouse in a trap.  She wasn't a wolf; she was little Jeyne Poole.  A real wolf would have ripped out his throat by now.  Surely, surely he had to _know_.  She squeaked, wordless.

His hand ran over her neck, now openly threatening.  The carriage lurched, and then—amazingly, horribly—Ramsay yelled: “Stop!  Stop the carriage!”

They kept moving, and, snarling, Ramsay removed his hand from her neck to yank open the door.  “Stop the carriage!” he repeated, louder and with a viciousness that Jeyne had learned to dread.

It stopped, more quickly than Jeyne would have thought possible.  Despite her best efforts, she found herself recoiling away from him, pressing herself into the corner as if that offered some protection.

Ramsay Bolton grinned at that.  His smiles were like knives.  “Are you afraid?”

“Yes,” she said.

He threw back his head and laughed.  Then he grabbed one of her hands, and pulled it towards him.  He kissed it.  “I am your husband,” he said sweetly, “Why would I want to do you harm?”  Sarcasm clung to his words like honey to bread.

Jeyne wished she had had that wine.  For a few moments, neither of them spoke.  His fingers grasped hers so hard that it began to hurt, but she knew better than to pull away.

“I have always wondered,” he said, thoughtfully, “if my wife would make a good bitch.”

Jeyne knew about Ramsay’s bitches.  She knew where their names had come from.  “Please,” she managed.  “I just want to be with you.  I just want to bear your children.”  It was such an obvious lie.

“Do you now?” he asked, gleefully.  “Because I can arrange that.”  Ramsay grabbed her leg, and jerked at her shoe until he managed to rip it off of her.

Swinging the door open wider, he hopped out of the carriage.  Grunting, he grabbed her arms and tugged her, trying to get her out in the snow with him.  “Come _on_ ,” he snapped.

Fear was a fire inside of her, and her mind was gone.  She kicked him, panting, terrified he was going to take her in front of everyone else on the road.  _Why?_  She wondered.  But there was no reason in her new world.  Should she struggle?  She did not know.

At first Ramsay could not get a good grip on her, and she refused to go without the tiniest hint of a fight.  Then her husband yanked firmly on her cloak, and shoved her out of the carriage into the snow.  It went well past her knees.  Cold wetness seeped easily through her dress.  “My lord?” she questioned, though she knew it would get her nowhere.

Instead of answering he grasped her cloak, and tore it from her.  Winterfell’s house signal, which had held it against her neck, fell into the snow.  Ramsay flung the cloak unceremoniously onto their seat.  His men watched, but nobody said anything.  Nobody moved.

“Across the Narrow sea,” Ramsay said, “the Dothraki make the lowest of the low walk behind the Khalasar.  You have greatly displeased me today.  I am disappointed.”  His grin was too wide for genuine disappointment.

This had been planned, she realized, belatedly.  This was some sick plot, because he was bored.  He was always bored.  “It’s so cold tonight,” she whispered.  “The wind is hard.”

It was useless.  “My little wolf will be fine,” he told her.  “And it shall be ever so much fun, don’t you think?”  Without warning he moved towards her, and grasped her pink dress with beastlike ferocity.  It ripped from her shoulders as he tore it down the middle.  It flopped, halfway discarded, around her hips and arms.

In terror she tried to move away, but tripped over her own silks.  In an instant he was on top of her like an animal.  One hand tight against her arm, holding her down, the other pulling at her sleeve.

He leaned closer towards her, his lips brushing against her ear.  His body weight had pushed her deep into the snow.  “If you don’t stop struggling right now,” he told her, “I will let half the men here take a turn at you.”  He considered, thoughtfully.  “They can all flip a coin, I suppose.”

Jeyne surrendered.  The threat had dumbfounded her, and, in her defeat, she began help him undress her.  All she had was her underdress and smallclothes now, and a single shoe.  He was exposing her to the chill and for his men to see.

As Ramay returned to his feet, the pink rag clutched in his fist, she remained in the snow, teeth chattering uncontrollably.  Jeyne put her arms around herself, not even because the cold was making her shake, but because she was ashamed.

 “My Lord, please…” she whispered.  He just might kill her with this game.  Now, in the face of it, she clung to her life.  When she cried in her tower, it was different.  “My Lord, I might die.”

He leaned over her menacingly.  “If you are gone too long,” he said, “I will send some men after you, love.”  He cupped her chin, and his fingers were gentle against her face.  “Men like my boys.  I mean, what if you tried to run off?  I can’t have that.”

The cold bit her, then, wild and deadly.  She knew about Ramsay’s boys.  Her body shook almost like Theon’s had, when Ramsay had gone too far, and a seizure had took him.  “I am so sorry.  _Please._   I am sorry.”  Getting on her knees, she grasped his trousers, silently imploring him with her eyes.

Ramsay grinned at her, his eyes hellfire.  Then he kissed her on the forehead, fingers smoothing out her hair.  “You’re used to the cold,” he told her.  “You shall be fine.”

“Please don’t leave me here.”  She whimpered as he began to climb back into the carriage.  Jeyne stumbled to her feet.   _“Please.”_ Clutching the edge his cloak, she tugged, desperately.  Was this a begging game?  The eyes of the entire party were on her, about twenty men in total.  Nobody said or did anything.

“Please give me my shoe,” she pleaded, feeling bile crawling up her throat.  “Please just let me have my shoe.”

Ramsay ripped his cloak from her grasp, irritated.  “Move!” he snarled, “fast!”  Then he slammed the door.

The door barely missed her fingers, and she clutched them, thinking of Theon’s lost fingers and toes.  By the end of the night, would the cold be strong enough to get to her foot?  Would she lose some toes?  _Oh gods_ , she realized, _he wants that_. Panic ripped through her gut.

Remembering her pin, she ran her hands over the snow to try to find it.  It was the worst waste of energy and time, but when her hand tightened around the steel, it felt worth it.  She clutched it in her hand like it was worth its weight in gold.

Miraculously, the carriage door opened, and for an instant, she hoped it would all be over.  Instead her husband threw her shoe out, as if in afterthought, and shut the door again.

“Please,” she said to no one in particular as the horses started to move.  “Please.”  She caught the eye of a man who was hardly more than a boy.  He dropped his gaze as quickly as possible.

Swallowing, Jeyne made her way to the fallen shoe.  She was baffled by this twist, but could not find the energy to question it.  It was impossible to get it on without sitting down, so she did, and more snow seeped through her garments.  Her foot already felt unpleasant, painful.  But at least she had protection now.

She tried to keep up with the horses, and at first she could, but over time she labored to breathe.  Her foot itched and froze and stung.  The wind felt heavier, and the night felt darker, but she wasn’t sure if she was imagining it in her terror.  As the final man went past her, she just had to pause for breath.  Leaning over, she retched half of her dinner out into the snow.

When she looked up, she saw something lying discarded up ahead of her, where the party had passed.  Fearful but curious, she moved towards it.  When she got close enough she realized it was a pair of gloves.  They had been fashioned for hands twice as big as hers.  One of the men must have dropped his out of kindness for her.  As she put them on, Jeyne thought she might cry.

First, she followed the horses, still able to see them from a distance.  Occasionally she stumbled over her frighteningly painless foot.  Stomping a few times, she tried to revive it.  She was soaked to the core, and she could not stop shaking.  _Was he going to come back with his dogs and his bow?_   She thought.  _Was he going to come back at all?_

For a few delusional seconds, she considered running away, but she knew she wouldn’t get far.  She also knew he might have somebody tracking her now.  Surely the game wouldn’t be as fun without somebody to describe her suffering to him in all its glorious detail?  Surely?  The thought actually comforted her, because it meant she might live.

Jeyne had heard rumors about the way Ramsay’s first wife had died.  She doubted they were rumors.  Regardless, no rumor could do Ramsay Bolton justice.  The thought made her stomach upset again, but she held down her food this time.  She needed it.

The last horses began to disappear into the horizon, and the cold curled around her feet like a vice.  Putting a hand up to her face, she realized that her tears were frozen on her cheeks.  She hadn’t even known she was crying.  Snow clung to her dry lips.

“A mild Fall snow,” Ned Stark would have called it, back when Winterfell wasn’t run by beasts.  She remembered, now, Theon, living under the threat of death, even then.  She hadn’t noticed him much at the time, except that he had laughed when he shouldn’t have.  He did not laugh anymore.

This mild Fall snow might take one or two of her toes.  She considered, desperately, the possibility of stopping for just a few minutes, but she restrained herself.  She did, however, rip off part of her sleeve and wrap it over her mouth.

She realized with a dazed sense of inevitability that she was slowing down.  If she hadn’t been starved for so long, if he hadn’t beaten her so frequently, she wouldn’t be as weak as she was now.  She wouldn’t have had to worry about making it.  For an instant she felt angry, and that propelled her forward.

Aa child Jeyne had been taught to not lay down and sleep because she would freeze to death.  This had all seemed very silly in the summertime at Winterfell, when snow had been fun instead of frightening.

Ramsay's party wasn't visible anymore, and she began to rely on the hoof and wheel tracks in front of her.  Snow was falling fast, and she feared that they might disappear if she took too long.  She wondered hazily if that mattered, because Winterfell was visible to her, now.  Nothing  _really_ mattered, because it was too far away.

Perhaps starving his old wife to death had been too dull, Jeyne thought, and laughed.  Her breath came out in puffs of white.   Her own laughter startled her, because it was alien to her now.  In a final defiance, she laughed again.  Then the cold bit too hard on her throat.

A tiny figure, underweight and underdressed, battled against the storm.  From a safe distance, a rider watched her.  He had only come closer after the laughter started, because the Lady sounded unwell.  He was not surprised, really, but he had to be vigilant.  He had been warned against letting her die.  That had been his only warning.


	2. Theon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramsay brings Theon into the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to amethyst_ink for reading over this story multiple times and offering lots of advice! :) And thanks to everyone who gave me kudos and commented on the last chapter!

Lord Ramsay had gone to feast at a neighboring holdfast.  Theon had cried with relief when he was left behind, chained up with the dogs.  When Ramsay took him places, people looked at him like he was an animal.  But Theon did not mind the kennels, because Kyra was there.  So were the other girls.  They were kind to him and he belonged.

Theon was curled up next to Kyra, hugging himself for comfort.  He had begun to drift into a hungry slumber when the sound of Ramsay’s party returning jolted him awake.  Theon hoped Ramsay would be tired, and he would leave his Reek alone for the night.  It wasn’t that Reek didn’t want to be pleasing—he did, oh, he did—but sometimes Lord Ramsay hurt him so much.  He didn’t want to hurt.

But soon after the horses were put away, and the carriage stowed in its place, Ramsay came for him.  His boots were impossibly loud.  Theon bowed his head and stared at the ground.  The dogs were barking.  Ramsay calmed them with a kind hand.  Then he stood over Theon, who remained silent.

Ramsay reached down, and ruffled his hair.  “Hello, Reek,” he said, an unusual amount of affection in his voice.

“M’lord,” he responded.  “I am happy to see you.”  Reek was surfacing, now, and Theon moved into the background.

“I’m happy to see you too, my pet,” Ramsay told him, gloved fingers running over Reek’s jaw.  Then he moved to unlock Reek from his chains.

Reek was frightened, because that meant that Ramsay wanted him for something.  Ramsay was going to take him somewhere.  But he did not move; he did not speak.  Ramsay stuck a finger underneath Reek’s collar, pulling it tight against his skin.  Then he attached the leash.

“Come,” he said.

Reek crawled toward Ramsay, knees and palms scraping against the floor.  Reek followed Ramsay this way until they were out of the kennels.  Then Ramsay told him he could stand, and he did.  Reek whispered his gratitude through broken teeth.

He was too afraid to imagine what his Lord wanted, because usually when he was taken into the castle Ramsay wanted to play with him.  A few times, after Ramsay had used Reek, he’d let him sleep on the rug by his bed.  Reek had liked that.  He hoped if Ramsay was going to make use of him anyway, he would let him sleep inside.  In the aftermath of Ramsay’s violence there was sometimes kindness.

Instead of going to Ramsay’s bedchambers, though, they went to the great hall.  Ramsay pointed at a plush chair, and told him to sit.

Reek squirmed.  “I am grateful,” he said, “But I am your…your pet.  I belong on the floor.”  Refusing things like baths was essential to Reek’s survival.  He did not know any other response.

“Reek,” Ramsay said, voice thick with affection.  “It’s okay.  You can sit down.  I said it was fine.”

Reek was baffled beyond anything, but he obeyed.  He was afraid that Ramsay would smack him down to the floor.  Surely this was a lesson in where he belonged.

Instead Ramsay petted him on the head.  “You’ve been so very obedient lately.  Obedience should be rewarded.  I feel guilty for not seeing to you earlier.”

“I just want to serve you,” Reek said dumbly.  His programmed responses were all he had at this point.  This was new territory.  Something was wrong.

“Of course you do.”  Ramsay leaned down, and kissed him on the forehead.  Then, he did it again.  “I’m so pleased with you, Reek.  You’re a good pet.”

Reek’s eyes filled up with tears; he was overwhelmed.  He did not want to mess this up.  It felt so good.  "M'lord?" he questioned.  "I…that’s all I want to be."  He hoped this was the correct answer.  He shifted in the chair, which was soft and pleasant.

Far away, Theon wanted to laugh, because he was terrified.  He had no idea what was happening.  But he remembered his broken teeth and the look Ramsay had given him the last time he had dared to smile.  He stayed inside.

"Sometimes, I neglect my Reek,” Ramsay said.  “It is unfair of me.  You’ve been so good lately.”

If Theon hadn’t known Ramsay Bolton, he would have thought it sounded sincere.  As it was, he felt like he was going to lose his bladder.  He couldn’t do that.  Not while sitting on a chair not meant for Reek.

“I am grateful for m’lord’s kindness,” Reek said, eyes trailing over the pink pattern of Ramsay’s cloak.

Ramsay kissed him on the forehead and on the nose.  His hands cupped Theon’s thin face, and he smiled gently.  “You’re my Reek,” he told him, and the next kiss was on his lips.

“I’m your Reek,” Reek echoed.  He’d been unable to return his Lord’s kiss, because it had been so unexpected.  He tried to make up for it with his words.  “Reek is Ramsay’s.”

Ramsay smiled indulgently.  He moved his hand down Theon’s neck, past the collar, stopping at some bruises that colored his jutting collarbone.

Theon waited for some kind of violence, because usually Ramsay got excited when looking at his wounds.  But nothing came.  Ramsay’s touch was nearly violent in and of itself, but at least it didn’t hurt.  Reek wanted to like it, because then everything would be easier.  He tried.

“When is the last time I fed you?” Ramsay asked curiously.

“Two days ago, m’lord,” Reek told him.  It had been some burned vegetables that the cooks had discarded, but Theon had been so hungry, it had not mattered.

“You’re hungry, then, yes?” Ramsay asked.  His hands moved through Theon’s ragged hair, which was a hard feat because it was so matted.  Gentle, ever so gentle.  Like Reek was a dog he had kicked too many times.

“Yes?” Reek tried to make his answer sound as submissive as possible, because he wanted to eat.  He was nauseated with fear, but desperate to take advantage of what was happening while he could.  He looked at Ramsay’s feet.

Cheerfully, Ramsay said: “Then let’s eat together.  I am hungry too.”

“Together?” This was overkill.  Theon was too baffled to stay around anymore.  Reek was mortified and ashamed by the suggestion.  “M’lord,” he said, “I should at least eat on the floor.”

Ramsay shrugged.  “That would make you more comfortable, wouldn’t it?”  A hint of excitement flashed in his eyes when he spoke.  It was familiar and foreboding.

Strangely it comforted Reek, because cruelty was simpler then kindness.  Some type of game was being played on him, here.  He had to be good.  Whatever happened, he had to be good.  “Yes.”  He nodded.  “That is where I belong.”

Ramsay gestured to the floor, and hurriedly Reek complied, crawling over to Ramsay’s chosen seat and sitting on the floor beside him.  Ramsay pounded on the table, and quickly two underfed waifs arrived.  They couldn’t have been older than fourteen, and both were afraid.

“M’lord?” One asked, surreptitiously glancing at Reek.  He knew he was a sight, and he covered his face with his hands.  At least then she could not see his swollen lips and broken teeth.  _Freak,_ he thought, _she’s looking at you because you’re a freak._

“Bring two platters of food and two cups for wine.”  Ramsay kicked both his feet up onto the table.  He was grinning.

Reek stared at his Lord.  He couldn’t help it.  There was something very wrong here, but he didn’t know what it was.  Reek ate table scraps, usually.  He never drank wine.  Fear was beginning to make his head hurt as well as his stomach.  When he got this afraid, acid would come up from his gut.  Swallowing it back down just made it worse, but he couldn’t vomit on Lord Bolton’s floor.

The girls returned with unnatural haste.  One placed a cup and a brimming platter of meat and vegetables in front of Ramsay.  The other stood uncertainly, holding the other cup and plate.

“M’lord,” she whispered.  “I am not sure…”

“It’s for my pet,” he told her, barely paying attention.

She nodded silently.  Stepping around Ramsay like he was an angry bull, the girl handed Reek a plate overflowing with food, and then a cup.  With his missing fingers, Reek nearly dropped them.  The other girl returned with wine, and filled first Ramsay’s and then Reek’s cup to the brim.

There was even a fork.  Reek wanted to cry, and he felt pathetic for it.  The food was more luxurious than anything he could remember.  Reek had been born in the Dreadfort; he had had nothing before that.  This was his world.  “Thank you,” he said, barely able to speak.  “M’lord is so kind to me.”

Ramsay smiled like a benevolent deity, his mouth already full of food.  “Well, eat, then!” he managed through a bite of pork.

In the back of his mind Reek knew something was wrong; he knew this would end.  But he had to devour what was before him while he could.  Forcing back tears, and ignoring the terror squirming in his stomach, he began to eat.  He ate way too fast, but he couldn’t stop.

Then he remembered the wine, and went for it.  Theon had had wine; Reek knew from Theon that it was good.  It made you less aware, and Reek knew he’d enjoy that.  The taste was a sour—he wasn’t used to anything but water—but he wanted that feeling as quickly as possible.  He gulped it down.  More and more, until it was gone.

Smiling indulgently, Ramsay leaned over, wine pitcher in hand, and poured Reek another glass.  Reek couldn’t help it when tears started to roll down his cheeks.

“Thank you,” he whispered.  They ate in silence, Reek trying to be as quiet as possible.  He did not want to make a mistake.  Not now.  Not when his Lord was being so kind.

When he was halfway done eating, Ramsay turned his chair to face Reek.  Ramsay leaned over, and Reek hurriedly scrambled closer.  Ramsay cupped Reek’s jaw in his hand.  Their noses touched.  “This is what you get when you are good, Reek.  Don’t you want to try harder to be good?”

Reek was stuffed to the point his stomach hurt and his mouth was bleeding.  He did not care.  “M’lord,” he said, when he had swallowed the piece of meat in his mouth, “it’s all I ever want.”  When Reek said it, it was the truth.  _Maybe,_ he thought, heady with the unfamiliar rush of wine _, I’ve finally learned._

“Good dog,” Ramsay told him.  He released his hold on his pet and turned back to his meal, grinning.  Then he grabbed the wine pitcher and refilled Reek’s cup.

Woozy and inflated with a small piece of pride, Reek wanted to smile but stopped himself.  He had been trying desperately to please his Lord.  He’d known it would take work; Theon was awfully disobedient, and Reek made so many mistakes.  But maybe, maybe he was improving.  Maybe Ramsay wouldn’t have to hurt him so much anymore.  Reek was nearly giddy as he swallowed down more alcohol.

Ramsay told him about his latest hunt, and Reek listened attentively.  The strange buzzed feeling helped him feel less nauseated by the details.  He reached out for his cup to become even less aware.  How nice it felt.  How soothing.

Then reality made a rude reappearance.

“It’s too bad that Lady Arya was not good, and could not enjoy this feast with us,” Ramsay was telling him, as if in afterthought.  He leaned back in his chair and sighed.

Reek froze.  His hand was on his cup of wine, and he wanted to drink it all before he found out where she was.  Was she on the cross?  Was she locked in her tower with a broken nose?  His hands were trembling as he moved the wine to his lips.  Then, he drank half of it in one go.  “Where is Lady Arya, my lord?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.  There was nothing he could do.  Nothing.

“Oh, somewhere out in the snow.  Perhaps she has gotten lost.  I did leave her pretty far out.”

Reek trembled.  He had spent so many days out with the dogs, in the cold, clinging to them for warmth.  Jeyne would have none of them to comfort her.  Reek drank the rest of his wine.

“Don’t worry, Reek,” Ramsay told him, “I know you have a soft heart.  But I’ll send my boys out after her if she’s gone too long.  They’ll bring her back.  Eventually.”

Reek looked at the remaining food on his plate.  He knew what Ramsay’s boys did.  He felt shaky, like he was about to both faint and fade out, far away, to the top of the room.  Ramsay’s boys had been sent to punish Reek more than once, when Reek had deserved the worst.  Reek knew he had earned it, so maybe Jeyne had earned it too?

Reek realized Ramsay’s eyes were studying him, and he looked up at Ramsay’s chest.  “I am sure my Lady will return safely,” he said.  But he was unable to hide his fear.  The mention of the boys had made him start to ache, in a place so shameful he could not even acknowledge it.  He could barely stand the sight of them.

“Hopefully she will not lose some toes,” Ramsay said, voice betraying his excitement at the thought.   “You know all about that.  Such an inconvenience.”

Reek was silent; too frightened to speak.  Now he didn’t like the wine quite as much, because he couldn’t think clearly. 

“I want to let you stay inside, Reek.” Ramsay told him.  “You can lay by the fire here and get some sleep.”  Then he chuckled.   “No going outside though.  Be a good dog, now.”   Ramsay banged on the table to summon the servants. 

Reek looked at his master, clutching his finger stubs.  His remaining food lay cooling, and partially forgotten.  “Thank you.  Of course.”

But it was not “of course,” and they both knew it.  Reek knew what the game was, in that instant.  And in the back of his mind, where Theon waited, he knew he had already lost.

The girls arrived, and they cleared the plates away.  Before one of the serving girls was able to leave, Ramsay grabbed her arm.  She squawked in fear.  “I think,” he told her, “you should go up to my bedchambers.  I think I would like that.”  He dug his fingernails into her as hard as he could.

She stared, and then nodded.  No words came to her lips, but as soon as he released her, she fled.  Reek knew the way to Ramsay’s chambers, too, and he shuddered as he watched her go.

Then Ramsay turned back to the man on the floor, and smiled a sticky smile.  “Have a good night, sweet Reek,” he told his pet. 

“Thank you, m’lord.”

Then Ramsay Bolton swept out of the room like a vulture that had smelled carrion nearby.

Reek tried to win; he tried to be good.  He wanted to drink more wine and eat more food with a fork.  He wanted Ramsay to praise him.  He wanted those gloved hands to touch him with affection, and he never wanted to see the flaying knife again.  He _wanted._

For a while Reek lay curled up on the floor next to the fire.  This was where his Lord wanted him to be.  This was where he belonged.  But every time he closed his eyes he saw the boys, and felt the largest one’s alcohol-stained breath on his face.  He saw them holding Jeyne down and laughing like they had laughed at him.   _Freak,_ he had told himself, afterwards.  _Disgusting._ He didn’t want Jeyne to feel as disgusting as he felt.  As he was.

Theon stirred in him; Reek’s heart was pounding.  _Go away,_ he told him, halfheartedly.  _I’m trying to be good._ But Reek didn’t want Jeyne to feel disgusting, and he didn’t want to disobey.  Reek never disobeyed: it was Theon who did that.  Reek whimpered and retreated.  If anything bad happened, it was Theon’s fault.  Reek had nothing to do with it; he hadn’t been there.

Sitting up, Theon looked around.  The fire was dying, and the castle appeared to be silent.  Theon knew that somebody had to be watching him: if not here then if he started to move.  He wanted to just leave Jeyne out there, and stay safe by the fire.  But he would not; he could not.  He loathed himself for his foolhardiness, but he would hate himself more if he did not try.

Theon did not know how the game would end.  Would he be allowed to trot stupidly off into the woods?  Would he be allowed to save her?  Or would he be stopped at the gate, and dragged back to torture before he had even been able to try?  Maybe Jeyne was safe in her bed right now, and this was a trick, to see if he would be good.

That thought frightened him even more.  He would have to check her chambers at least, just to make sure.  He crept up the stairs, expecting at any moment that somebody would pounce on him.  Nobody did.  He peaked into Jeyne’s room, which he knew was empty immediately because it was unlocked.  Nobody grabbed him.  He crept outside.  Nobody stopped him.  He selected a mare, and saddled her.  Nobody was even in the stables.  He led the horse to the gates.  Nobody was there.  He got on the horse and started to ride.  Nobody pursued him.

Without a doubt, now, Theon knew he was in the middle of a game.  A game so obvious that he was _supposed_ to know he was in one.  That had never happened before.  He was so afraid that it physically hurt inside his chest.  He knew he should have stayed by the fire.  He should have stayed Reek the Good Dog.  He considered momentarily trying to go back, but he’d already broken the rules.  He was already going to get hurt.

He hoped he would at least find her.  The wind was harsh and the snow was coming down heavy, so it was hard to see far in front of him.  For too long he wandered, grateful for the ragged cloak that Ramsay had given to him when the fall had gotten harsh.  But then, just when he was about to despair, he saw her.  She was barely moving.  He spurred the horse forward.

First she cried out in fear, and tried to back away.  Then she saw it was him, and stopped, pulling her arms around her.  “Theon?” he heard her yell faintly through the snow.

“Lady Arya,” he responded, and dismounted.  He held his arms out to her, so she could get on the horse.

“Did he send you to get me?”  Her teeth were chattering.

“No, m’lady.  I just came.”  Theon realized with growing horror she had no cloak.  She did not have her dress, only her underdress.  _Oh gods.  He could have killed her._   Theon removed his cloak and stepped around her, wrapping it around her shoulders.  She clutched it absentmindedly.

“I don’t want to go back,” she said.  He had no idea if she meant she wanted to die out here in the snow, or she wanted to run.  They were pretty much the same in the end, he decided.

His breath was broken glass in his throat.  “Please come back with me anyhow,” he begged.  The irrational voice inside of him told him that maybe if they made it back soon enough, he wouldn’t get hurt so bad.  If they got back soon enough, the boys wouldn’t hurt her like they had hurt him.  That was the only reason he had come.

“Let’s just go,” she told him, breathing rapidly.  Her breath came out in small puffs of white in the frozen air.  “Let’s just get _out of here_.”

He shook his head, and tried to take her arm to put her on the horse.  She snatched it away.

“Please, Theon,” she said, desperation in every syllable.  “Please.  We should run.”  Her eyes were wild with delirium.

He wanted to take her away; he wanted to save her.  She called him _Theon._   But he could not.  The wind roared around them, a deadly, dangerous animal.  If they ran it would kill them before Ramsay did.

“No,” Theon told her.  “He’s playing with us.  That’s all this is.”  He looked around, half hoping to catch one of the people Ramsay had surely sent after him watching them.  Nobody was visible.

“How do you _know_ that?” Jeyne asked.

Theon did not want to talk about Kyra.  “I just do!”

Jeyne was so young, and probably soon to be dead.  She was like the others, all the others.  He did not want her to become a dog.  She had to listen.

Instead she looked at him, indignant.  But her eyes were filled with the same terror that he felt all the time.  “I don’t want to go back.  Please don’t make me go back.”  She started to cry.

“I can’t help it!” he insisted, “He’s just playing a game!  I’m not even supposed to be here!”  He sounded angry in his fear, and he immediately felt guilty.  He knew what it was like to want to run away.  “I’m sorry, Lady Arya,” he said.  “I just know.  He’s done this all before.”  _Not exactly like this,_ he thought, _but it’s the same thing in the end._

Jeyne let out a strangled sob, and for a moment Theon thought she was going to collapse into the snow.  But she did not.  Eyes blank and resigned, she took his hand, and he helped her onto the horse.  Then he got on in front of her, and he urged the horse back to Winterfell, and misery.

For a while they continued unmolested, and Theon began to hope against hope that they were going to get back safely.  He was still somewhat woozy from all the wine Reek had swallowed.  At first he thought his eyes were playing tricks when one of Ramsay’s men appeared beside them, mounted on a stallion.  Theon recognized him; he recognized him too well.  Jeyne said nothing, but shuddered visibly.  He was a pallid man who wore a hairy vest.

“Are you supposed to be out of the castle, traitor?”  His voice was hard and mocking.  He brought his horse up beside them and matched their pace.

Theon didn’t say anything.  Jeyne’s grip around his waist tightened.

“You should speak when spoken to,” the man told him.  “You never learn.”

“No, I’m not supposed to be outside the castle.”  He felt grim.  At least there was only one of them so far.

“I’d say you’re thinking with your cock, but you don’t have one.  The Lord gives you his though, eh?”

Theon clenched his teeth, and was rewarded with stabbing pain.  Everything people said to humiliate him was true.

“You’re just bringing her back so we can have some fun.  You know that, right?  She was out too long.”

Jeyne whimpered.

Theon glared at the man, emboldened perhaps by the wine.  “She’s getting back in plenty of time.  It’s not her fault I came.”  Of course “plenty of time” was arbitrary, but Theon didn’t care.

“Maybe Lord Ramsay will cut out your tongue someday.”  The man smiled at him with yellow teeth interspersed with gold.  Then he spurred his horse forward, only to circle around them in the snow and return to his former place.

Jeyne buried her face in his back; he felt her breath against his shirt.  The man was staring at him, but remained silent.  _At least he has run out of insults for now,_ Theon thought, _and we are getting close._

When they passed through the gates of Winterfell, he felt dizzy with relief.  He didn’t have to be near this man anymore, and neither did Jeyne.  But then he saw Ramsay’s boys waiting for them.

“Turn the horse around,” Jeyne begged.  She was only half conscious.  “Run.  Please.”  Her hands, for some reason in oversized gloves, clutched his shirt in agonizing desperation.

“I can’t,” he said.  “We _can’t._ ”  He slowed the horse to a stop as the boys approached them.  “I’m just…bringing the Lady back to Lord Bolton,” he told them, keeping his head hanging low.  _Oh gods,_ he thought, dizzy now with fear.  _This was all for nothing._ Worse _than nothing.  I should have known._ He hurt like the boys had already laid their hands on him, and he wanted to cry.

“Get her down from the horse, Reek,” the bigger one said.  “We’re allowed to have her.  She didn’t come back fast enough.”

Theon’s jaw trembled.  He wanted to ask, selfishly: “What about me?”  Ramsay had set them on him before, and the humiliation itself had nearly killed him.  But he couldn’t even bring himself to speak.  He didn’t want to get Jeyne off the horse.  It felt like the worst betrayal he could imagine.

The man who had followed them back to Winterfell laughed.  He winked at Jeyne mockingly, and dismounted to join the others.

“Just let me take her inside and let her rest,” he said, thinly.  “She’s very sick from being in the cold.  You wouldn’t want to kill her and make the Lord angry.”  He felt useless and pathetic.  He was reminded of how he wasn’t a man anymore.  How he was nothing.  “Please just…just let her rest first.  Make sure she is alright…before…before.”  He felt like he was negotiating with wild dogs.

The smallest one shook his head, grinning.  Theon _remembere_ d him, and visibly cringed.

“We’ll bring her inside, turncoat,” he said.  “Let her warm up a bit.  Send the maester around.  How about that?”

Theon swallowed dryly and nodded.  It was much better than he had expected, but it didn’t matter in the end.  Now all the wine in the world didn’t seem like enough.

Jeyne disentangled herself from him, and at first, he thought she was going to try to run.  He wanted to grab her, because running would make it worse.  But she got down from the horse and walked, trembling, towards the men.

“Please don’t,” Theon said to nobody in particular.  “Please.”  He climbed off the horse and stood there, unsure of what to do _.  I should have at least tried to run,_ he told himself miserably.  _How different would the results have been?_

“Are you jealous, Reek?” one asked as he grabbed Jeyne’s arms with his hands.  She whimpered in response.

“Bet he’s jealous,” another agreed.  They hustled her off towards the castle, whispering things Theon knew were terrible, but were too soft to hear.

Two stayed behind.  One grabbed the reigns of his horse, and the other grabbed him by his collar.  He was a muscular, overweight man clad excessively in furs.  He hadn’t hurt Theon before; Theon didn’t know him.  Theon saw the horse being led away, but barely registered it.

“You just have to watch,” he told Theon, smirking.

Theon didn’t even protest when the man dragged him in to face Jeyne’s suffering.  He knew it was useless.  He curled up in a corner; nobody cared about what Reek did, anyway.  Putting his mangled hands over his face, he shut his eyes.  He did not want to watch.  He did not want to see.  But he couldn’t help hearing Jeyne scream.


	3. Ramsay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramsay punishes Reek and Reek makes some promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to amethyst_ink for looking over this story and offering so many suggestions. Thank you to everyone who commented and gave me kudos on the last chapter! It made me really happy! :)

Ramsay ran his fingers along the cracks in Winterfell’s walls.  He was heading for the dungeons, because Arya had become too weepy to stand any longer.  He wanted his Reek, and he wanted him now.  He wanted to hear him scream.

His wife was locked in her room, shut safely away for Ramsay to play with when he got bored.  She had been crying continuously since his boys had had her, which irritated and aroused him.  At first her crying had been enjoyable, but the ceaselessness of it made his head ache.  She hadn’t even lost any toes.

His father had told him, in his calm, deadpan voice, to never endanger her life like that again.  Didn’t Ramsay know that they needed her?  Didn’t Ramsay understand any children had to come from him?  Roose had ordered the maester to patch her up far more than Ramsay would have allowed.  He’d even ordered an abortive drought, just in case.

Sullenly Ramsay knew his father was right.  But he was already so _bored_ of her and their mundane fucking and her mundane weeping.  He had just wanted to have a little fun.  And he had, except for Reek being a sneak.

Ramsay had thought Reek would be obedient this time, but he was wrong.  Ramsay did not like being wrong, especially about things that were his.  In retrospect he wished he would have let his boys fuck Reek hard, right there in the snow.  It was really what he deserved.

But Reek was Ramsay’s, and something about other men putting their hands on him had made him even angrier than before.  Ramsay had determined to lock Reek up for a week, down in the dungeons, to teach him a lesson and to make him wait for his punishment.  By the time I show up, he had thought, he’ll be _happy_ to see me.  That had made him smile, and his cock grow hard.

But aggravatingly, he had not been able to stay away that long.  By day four the idea of Reek, repentant (and bleeding) was more arousing than Arya’s whimpering.  She had asked him twice where Reek was.  He had told her it was none of her business.  The second time she asked he had struck her in the jaw.  Ramsay figured she thought he was dead, and blamed herself.  He would let that go on for a while, because it was fun.

If he admitted it, it did madden him that they had attempted a tiny alliance against him.  That’s why he had made up the game in the first place.  To see how strong it was, and if necessary, squash it.  It had been necessary.  Necessary, and oh so fun.  Ramsay’s fun wasn’t over yet.

He was approaching Reek’s cell now.  As he neared, he heard shuffling coming from within.  Reek had wisely learned to recognize the sound of Ramsay’s boots.  Ramsay nodded at the two prison guards, who stood quickly to attention.

He pointed at the door, a silent command to open it.

They did so, and Ramsay entered.  Reek was kneeling; his head was bowed in submission.  His little pet was good at looking pleasing, at acting obedient, but he was still a sneak.  A sneak who on the rarest of occasions, still smiled nervously.  A little sneak who disobeyed for damsels in distress.

“M’lord,” Reek whispered, and Ramsay was pleased to note the fear in his voice.  At least he knew, now, what to expect and what he deserved.  Theon would have been fighting, and spitting, but not Reek, not anymore.  Ramsay felt his anger abate a little at the thought, because Reek usually was a good dog.  He had trained him well.

Reek crawled to him, then, and kissed his boots.  His entire body was quivering, to the point he looked ill.  Maybe he was, Ramsay thought with concern.  The maester would see to him later; it would be fine.

“I was nice to you,” Ramsay said.  It was true.  He had been nice, very nice.  It hurt that his kindness hadn’t been appreciated.  “Far more than you deserved.  And you disobeyed me.”

Reek nodded, wordless.  He looked like a runt from one of his bitches’ litters, underfed and scared.  Ramsay liked that, but he wanted Reek to beg before this was over.  He wanted him to swear to never disobey again.  The words would sound so good in his ears.

“I am disappointed,” he said, mildly, and was pleased to see Reek shudder.  He reached into his belt, and withdrew his flaying knife, running the blade over his fingers.  He was grinning; this was just what he needed to get over the indignity of Reek’s betrayal.

Ramsay took a step towards Reek, and in response Reek crawled into the far corner of his cell.  Letting out a moan, he clutched his thin hair, enough to hurt.  “Please,” he said, pitifully.  “I’m sorry.”  He was already crying.  “I was just afraid that the Lady would die and…and she is your wife, m’lord.  And I serve you…”

It was useless, because Reek and Ramsay both knew what was going to happen.  Ramsay shook his head, not dignifying Reek’s pleas with a response.

Ramsay whistled for the guards to come to him.  They came.

“Hold him down.”

Ramsay was reminded of Reek’s gelding as he squirmed, pinned to the floor.  He’d never been able to replicate those exquisite screams since.  One man was on either side, but Reek was still free to kick.  He did not, though.  He had stopped moving at all.

Ramsay got on top of his prisoner, straddling him, knees tight against his boney thighs.  Ramsay felt a rush, and heat in his loins.  Leaning forward, he grabbed Reek’s face with both hands.  The flaying knife pressed teasingly against Reek’s cheekbone.

“Do you understand why I have to hurt you?” Ramsay asked.

“Yes,” Reek managed.  His chest was heaving.

Ramsay considered keeping the guards here, but decided privacy was better.  He wanted his disobedient pet to himself.  He wanted Reek’s pain to be his and only his.

“Chain his hands to the wall and leave,” he told them.

Reek didn’t struggle when the men locked his wrists in chains and hooked him to the lowest bar a foot above the ground.  His head lolled against the wall, his dank hair sticking to the stone.  There wasn’t even terror in Reek’s eyes anymore, but the dull, faded look of somebody who was dying.

“You’ve really hurt my feelings, Reek,” he said, as the men left.  He heard them go up the stairs and shut the door, leaving Ramsay alone with his pet.  Ramsay felt a strange embarrassment, because in a way his feelings _were_ hurt.  “I thought for a long time how to make this right.  I considered taking another of your toes, but I think I’m feeling adventurous.  And forgiving.”

Reek was still far away, in his weird little world.  He was staring at the wall, mouth slack like an invalid.  A dull anger was building in Ramsay’s chest, because Reek should be paying attention.  “Are you listening to me?” he snarled _._ There was no answer.

 _Little shit_ , Ramsay thought.  _You little shit._

For a moment, Ramsay just stared at Reek.  Then he raised his fist and brought it down sideways against Reek’s jaw.  “Pay attention!” _Pay attention to me,_ his brain added, which infuriated him all the more.

Reek stirred, whimpering as blood dribbled from his mouth.  Nodding dumbly, Reek stared at Ramsay’s nose, jaw still slack.  “Yes.  I will.”  The reply was barely audible.  “I’m sorry,” he went on, “I’m so sorry.”  Tears were stirring in his eyes again, and he seemed more aware of his surroundings.

 _I will make you scream,_ Ramsay thought, wildly.  _Because you are mine and you will scream for me.  I will_ make _you pay attention._ He was ready to begin now.  Yes, he was ready.  He flipped the flaying knife over in his hands, smiling.

Reek whimpered, helpless.

Ramsay went for flesh on Reek’s arm, tearing deliciously into it and watching the blood spill onto the floor.  He was careful; he was precise.  The flesh had to come off just so.  It did, and Reek screamed!  His hips bucked against Ramsay’s.  He was staring at the ceiling, eyes now overflowing with tears.  The whole thing was gorgeous.

Ramsay dug the knife deeper.  _More_ , he thought, as Reek’s flesh peeled away.  _More._   Before long, Reek was pleading, and begging, and carrying on in such a wonderful way.  _Please_ , he was saying, _please_.  _Please, m’lord!_   In response, Ramsay licked his lips and started on a new part of Reek’s arm.  Reek’s response was a wordless scream.

Reek’s eyes rolled up in his head.  His skin was icy, and he was mumbling words that made no sense to Ramsay.  Ramsay would have to stop soon.  He did not want to, but he would.  _You need to take better care of your pet._ He heard his father’s tired voice in his head.  _If you want to keep him._

Ramsay hated hearing that advice, because it made him fearful that Reek would die.  Being afraid made him angry, and the thought of Reek dying made him infuriatingly scared.  Reek was _his_ and shouldn’t be able go anywhere without his permission.  Especially not somewhere so permanent.  He didn’t want to think about it anymore; he _wouldn’t._   Reek looked perfect right now, and Ramsay was going to enjoy it.

Ramsay was glad he had decided to give in, and come down to the dungeons early.  He was having a good time, and what was better, he felt this lesson would be remembered.  Reluctantly, he stopped, because the blood was thick on the floor.  He’d have to call for the maester to clean up his pet.  Eventually.

“I’ll never disobey again,” Reek was promising, voice soapy with saliva.  He was drooling.  “Please, please m’lord.  I promise.  I _promise_.”

Ramsay felt vindicated and heady.  His pants were tight at the crotch.  “But Reek, you’re a sneak,” he told him lovingly.  “Are you sure?  You shouldn’t make promises when you can’t keep them.”  But Ramsay was satiated now, happy.  His Reek was his again, pliant and scared.

“I’m sorry.  You’re right. ” He paused, adorably baffled.  “But…but I promise…?”  Then, through broken teeth he chanted: “Sneak cheek freak.  Weak meek.”

Ramsay kissed him on the forehead, feeling overwhelmingly possessive of the bleeding man beneath him.  “Yes,” he whispered in his ear, “yes, you are weak.”  He said it with affection.

Reek nodded in agreement.  “I am,” he echoed.  “And I am yours.”  His arm was a ragged mess and it was beautiful.

For a moment Ramsay wanted to fuck him then, right there, on the floor.  He wanted to yank down Reek’s pants and make him scream and cry all over again.  But the idea of waiting until later, when Reek had had time to think and recover, was even better.  Reek was most submissive a few hours after a punishment; Ramsay was not sure why.  But it was worth the wait.

“I,” he told him, “am going to send for the maester, to clean up this mess.”  He stroked his Reek’s hair, and ran fingers over his forehead.  He wiped some tears from the other man’s cheeks.  “And you.”

Reek’s eyes flooded with relief.  He had realized that for now, it was over.  “Thank you, m’lord,” he babbled.  “M’lord is too kind.”

 _I_ am _kind_ , Ramsay agreed, thinking of letting Reek sleep by the fire and have meat to eat.  _I should have taken some toes for this, but I did not._   _Yes, I am generous._   Ramsay took good care of Reek; he knew that he did.  Reek was so deliciously pathetic.  A meaner master would have killed him by now, but Ramsay let him serve.  Ramsay touched him.  Ramsay fed him.

“I really am kind,” Ramsay told him.

Reek nodded, and his jaw trembled.  “Yes, m’lord.  I’m grateful, m’lord.”  He looked at Ramsay like he was the only person in the world.

Spontaneously Ramsay kissed him again, this time on the lips.  Reek kissed him back, lips salty with tears.  In that moment Ramsay felt merciful.  “I forgive you,” he said.

Reek’s whole body went limp, and he started to shake with relief.  Looking down at the floor, he whispered his thanks.  Tears were rolling down his cheeks; he’d be in pain for a long time.  _Good._

Ramsay tilted Reek’s chin up, his eyes burning.   “But never do this again.  If I put Arya in the snow again, or beat her, you will do nothing.  She is mine just like you are mine.  If I want, you will participate.  Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Reek replied, breath hot against Ramsay’s face.  His eyes were wide and honest.  Blood was seeping into his clothing, from his wounds and from the floor. “Yes, I understand.”

Ramsay smiled.  “Good.”


	4. Jeyne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Ramsay goes hunting, Jeyne visits Theon in secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to amethyst_ink for reading over this story for me, and offering suggestions! :) And thank you again to everyone who read this story or left kudos or comments. It made me very happy!!

Jeyne crept down the steps, clutching a flask to her chest.  Her heart was pounding.  The maester had given her milk of the poppy in secret, and she planned to share it with Theon.  Ramsay had gone “hunting.”  The thought of it made her queasy, but at least he was gone.  She felt like a bug caught in a spider’s web.  Eventually the spider would return to devour her, but she did not know when.

Just having the milk under her mattress, waiting for her, was a comfort.  But she felt too guilty to keep it to herself.  For some reason Theon had wanted to save her, and that had gotten him hurt.  _Try to make him happy,_ she recalled him telling her, and shivered.  If Theon hadn’t come to get her, Ramsay would have been happy.  At least for a little while.

Tucking the flask into a pocket on her dress, she continued down the stairs.  Jeyne had also brought some salve with her, just in case he’d let her use it.  So far she hadn’t been seen, but that was sure to change.  She hoped it would be by people who kept silent, either from kindness or fear.  The maester had left her door unlocked, and she knew it had been intentional.   Everyone knew Ramsay was hunting; everyone knew he wasn’t there to know she was loose.

 _Please just let me go,_ she thought.  _I have one small thing to do._ Usually, Jeyne felt like a mouse in a trap.  One of the crueler children she had played with at Winterfell had dangled a caught mouse over the fire.  Jeyne had cried for the other girl to stop, but instead she had dropped the mouse directly into the flames.  Horrified, Jeyne had retreated to Sansa and prettier things.  She missed Sansa.  She missed pretty things.

 The mouse had gotten away, though.  It had raced through the coals and escaped, though its little feet had burned.  Jeyne’s feet ached from her adventure in the snow, but she had kept her toes.  Her husband had been disappointed, but regardless she was shaken to her core.  It had been too cold.  The men had been too rough.  At the outset she had thought she was dying.  She had hoped for it.

A servant girl glanced at her fearfully, and then hurried away.  _Best not to see,_ Jeyne thought _.  Best not to know anything._ She made it to the hallway.  It was a long, somber thing, but at the end were the steps to the dungeons.  Her breath caught in her throat; her fingers were trembling.

Jeyne ran.  Her feet pounded on the stone floor.  Scurrying into the causeway that led to the dungeons, she wanted to flee back to her room and close the door.  She wanted to hide.  For a moment she was frozen; unable to think.  Then she steeled herself, and walked down the steps.

There was a guard at the bottom of them.  He was a tall man, with wide shoulders.  “You’re not supposed to be here,” he told her.

“I am the Lady of this castle,” she responded.  Pulling herself up a little taller, she looked him in the eyes.  In reality she had no power here.  Jeyne was meant to be locked in her room, and he could easily return her.

Instead he stepped back to let her pass.  “Well…just be in your room when he comes back.”  He shrugged his gigantic shoulders uncomfortably.  “You should take a torch.”  Pulling one from the wall, he handed it to her.

In her world this was a massive kindness.  “Thank you,” she managed, trying to sound like a Lady.  Trying to sound like this was a routine event.  But inside she felt like a whore, and she hurt like one too.

“Just be out of here quick,” he told her.  He was a bear of a man, but he was afraid anyway.  Nearly everyone was.

Jeyne walked down the rows of cells.  She knew which one Theon’s was by the way it smelled.  She peered inside its small, barred window.  He was curled up on the floor, staring motionlessly ahead.  She stuck the torch into an empty socket in the wall.  Oh gods, it was so dark in his cell without it.

“Theon,” she whispered.

He did not stir.

“Theon,” she repeated, and he jumped like a frightened deer.

He scrambled away into the corner, and leaned his forehead against the stone.  “Please don’t hurt me,” he said.  She saw tell-tale bandages on his arm.

“It’s me,” she told him softly, heart aching.  “It’s just me.”

Theon turned to look at the cell window suspiciously.  “Is it?” he asked.

She couldn’t think anything to say to that, so she just nodded.

First he scrabbled about on all fours to reach her.  Then, as if he just remembered he could walk, he climbed to his feet.  He stuck his fingers—the ones he still had—through the window.  “Did you come before?” he asked.

“No,” she told him.  Had he been hallucinating?  She didn’t know whether she should touch him until he reached out for her.  Then she placed her hands on his.  Some of her fingers were still bandaged from the frostbite.

“You shouldn’t be here.”  He sounded wretched.  “Please don’t leave me.  You shouldn’t be here.”

“He’s gone hunting.”  Jeyne watched as Theon slumped with relief.

“Please don’t leave yet, then.”  He leaned his head against the door, blue eyes watching her through the bars.  There were new bruises on his face, and dried blood was caked underneath his lips.

“I won’t.”

Theon gave her a tiny ghost of a smile, one that showed none of his teeth.

“I brought you something,” she told him, disentangling one of her hands to remove the flask from her pocket.  “The maester gave it to me.”

“…What is it?”  Theon asked.  His eyes were that of a dead man’s, and momentarily she shivered.

Jeyne passed it through the bars to him.  “You’ll know when you drink it.”

“Is it poison?” he asked.

Jeyne was momentarily stunned.  But of course.  Of course he had the same thoughts as she did when the pain was beyond description.  “No.”

“Oh.”  Theon twisted the cap open.  “How much am I supposed to drink?”

“Just drink all of it,” she told him.  She hadn’t intended on that, but to even look at him was unbearable.

He put the drink to his lips, and his eyes widened when he realized what it was.  He drank until it was gone.  Then he passed the flask back to her, and she saw he was blinking back tears.  She slipped it back into her dress.

For what seemed like an eternity he just stood there, shaking.  “Thank you,” he said in a small voice.  “Why?” 

“I heard what…what he did to you.”  She did not want to say how; Ramsay became aroused by telling her about his exploits with his Reek.  That was something Theon did not need to know.

Hanging his head, Theon hunched his shoulders.  “I mean why…why did you want to help me?”

Jeyne didn’t know the answer to his question, because it seemed like their friendship only made things worse.  “Why did you want to help _me_?”

“I couldn’t…not.”

 “Me either.”

He stuck his fingers through the bars again, reaching for her.  “How long does it work for you?  The milk?” he asked.  “And…and when does it start working?”

“It works about five hours.  And in about twenty minutes, you’ll feel it.”  She touched Theon’s fingers gently; he didn’t usually did not seek out contact, but she did not question it.

 “I had a dream,” he said.  “I guess it was a dream.”

Jeyne waited in silence for him to continue, and ran her thumb down his finger encouragingly.

“I dreamed that we flew away.”

For a moment she thought he was going to laugh, but he didn’t.

“I am sorry I can’t take you away.”  His sunken eyes stared at her.  “I wish I could.  I’m not a man, anymore, though,” he explained.  “I am just Reek.”

Jeyne thought about the pleasure house; she thought about Ramsay’s men.  “I’m just a whore,” she responded.

Theon shook his head.  “No,” he said, “no, you are Lady Arya.”

“Lady Arya the Whore,” she told him, and laughed.

“No.”  He looked scandalized.

Jeyne knew she should leave him, because the longer she stayed, the more dangerous it was for both of them.  But she didn’t want to abandon him here, all alone, awaiting Ramsay’s next visit.  Not just yet.

“Theon, you have blood all over your face.”  She tried to say it in a kindly way.  Reaching into her dress, she pulled out her handkerchief.  It was one she had made with Sansa, when they both had been together.  When they had giggled about boys, and marriage, ages ago.  “Please let me get it off.”

“No.”  Theon shook his head fervently.  He backed away into his cell, as if Jeyne might try to forcefully clean him up if she could.  “No, please.”

Instantly she felt terrible, because she had frightened him.  “I won’t if you don’t want me to.”  To Ramsay, both of their bodies were his property.  He owned them, and Theon wasn’t supposed to be clean.  “Theon, if it scares you, I won’t.”

“Thank you.”  He peered at her through the bars, like he still wasn’t sure if she was real.

“I’m sorry if I frightened you,” she told him.  “I just…I think your mouth was bleeding…”

He shook his head as if it was absurd of her to apologize.  “You can,” he said softly.  “Just please not too much.”

She opened her mouth to protest, and to tell him it was okay.  To tell him something ridiculous, like it was his own face, for goodness sakes.  But of course Theon _belonged_ to Ramsay, just like she did.  She knew that now.

“Not too much,” she agreed.  She applied her salve to the handkerchief, wondering if it was worth it to risk Ramsay noticing.

As he came back towards her, Jeyne was disheartened by how much he resembled a beaten dog.  His head hung low, and if he had had a tail, it would have been between his legs.  She wondered what she looked like to other people.  Surely not much better.  Maybe a bird with broken wings.

When she first put the handkerchief to his chin, he flinched, but didn’t move away.  Theon watched her as she tried to get the blood off, which was a hard task as she had no water.  But after rubbing insistently, she got some of it off of him.  Boldly she went for his cheeks, and afterwards he looked improved.  Of course, some greased just smeared into older dirt and grime, but she had tried.

Jeyne smiled at him, and tucked her now filthy cloth back into her dress.  “I promise, you still look…safe.”  There wasn’t any kinder way to describe it.

Theon looked at her like she must be a mirage.  “Thank you.”  Then his eyes filled up with tears, and she was afraid she had permanently scared him by trying to be kind.

Instead he said: “I think the milk is working.”  His voice was so soft she could barely hear it.  “I don’t.  I haven’t.”  He withdrew from her and covered his face, shoulders heaving.

“Theon?”

He was gagged by his sobs for at least a minute.  “I didn’t remember what it was like to not be in pain,” he finally said.

She did not know what to say.

“I don’t want it to stop.”

Jeyne wished she had all the milk of the poppy in the world, but she didn’t.  Maybe she had done him a cruelty instead of a kindness, she realized with growing horror.  Maybe temporary relief was worse than none at all.

Theon hid his face from her as much as possible and moved further away from the door.  “You shouldn’t…you shouldn’t have given this to me.  He made me promise to hurt you if he commanded it.”  He hugged himself and let out a ragged breath.  Then he managed to look at her, and the shame in his eyes was too much.  “You’re too kind to me and he made me promise.  You shouldn’t look at me.  You shouldn’t talk to me.  Please don’t hate me.”

 “He’s an animal,” she said, before she could stop herself.  Jeyne felt a scream building in her throat, and had to repress it.  It was grotesque, she thought, it was _grotesque_ that Ramsay wanted to make them hate each other.  Theon was all she had in this madhouse.  “If he makes you do something, just do it.  He will do it anyway if you don’t, and then he’ll hurt you too.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said miserably.

“How can you help it?  You can’t!” Jeyne knew she sounded angry, and realized he probably thought she was angry at _him_.  “Theon, it’s not your fault.  I don’t hate you.  He’s just a beast.  He made me think you were dead for _days._ ”

Theon gasped, like he had forgotten to breathe.  He couldn’t speak so he nodded at her instead.  _He really thought I would hate him_ , she realized.  _He really did._

“Lord Ramsay’s…though…he’s not.” Theon looked like he was working over a complex problem in his mind.  “I’m worthless, and he lets me serve.  Lucky.  I am lucky he keeps me.”

She opened her mouth and shut it.  Jeyne was beginning to understand the skewed logic in it all.  Theon had to be what Ramsay wanted him to be to survive.  Ramsay wanted him to feel grateful , so he did.

“I don’t think you are worthless,” Jeyne said.  “Do you think they would have called the maester for me without you?  Do you think we would have gone inside?”

Theon looked at her with intense longing.  Not in a foul way, or even a romantic way.  It was the look of a starving child who had been offered some bread.  “…I don’t think you’re a whore.”

For some reason the sincerity in his voice made her throat tighten and her eyes water.  “Thank you” was all she could think to say.

“You should go,” he said.  “I don’t want you to go.”

 “I know.” Jeyne wanted to stay with him.  She wanted Ramsay to have an accident, out there in the snow.  She wanted them to drag back his body, bloody and useless, for her to bury.  She never wanted another man to touch her again.  She wanted so many things.

“Go.  I don’t want you to get hurt.”  He backed away, and offered her a miniscule caricature of a smile.  It was surreal because she knew how he had used to laugh.

Jeyne nodded, knowing he was right, and smiled back.  Maybe her smile was a sight, too.  She didn’t look in the mirror often anymore; she did not know.  Somehow, she managed to leave.

When Jeyne made it back to her room without incident, she was shaking with relief.  She hadn’t wanted to go, but she took comfort in how bright Theon’s eyes had been.  She’d looked back, to wave goodbye, and he’d watched her go.  There was some life in them that hadn’t been there when she had arrived.

Sitting on her bed, she pulled out the handkerchief.  It was covered in blood and grime.  It had been Theon, she thought, who had come to rescue her in the snow.  When she had gushed about knights and gallantry with Sansa, lifetimes ago, she never would have imagined it.  Not from the Theon she remembered, anyway.  He’d seemed crude and inappropriate at his best, and cruel at his worst.

And now he looked like a starving old man, and he hadn’t succeeded in saving her.  Not any obvious way.  Jeyne was still the princess in a tower, and a fake one at that.  But for the first time in days, she didn’t feel like crying.  In that way he _had_ saved her.  For that she thought he deserved a song.  Jeyne ran her hands over the cloth before carefully returning it to her pocket.


End file.
